Sugar High
by XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: Easter Sunday 2014 overlapped 4/20, and Matthew couldn't resist combining the chocolates with a special ingredient for a bit of fun. Alfred returns home to a tasty sweet waiting for him, though the chocolates remain untouched in the fridge.


**Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!**

**I'm sorry to all of those who thought I was above these bad jokes, but I couldn't help but notice the spam in the AmeCan tag on Tumblr, and of course today here in the east is already Easter Sunday and 4/20, so, well, what better way to re-fill the AmeCan tag up than with some AmeCan porn business, eh? Enjoy some pot related blazing celebrations of some kind! There is NSFW material and also pot references, just as a heads up! Smooches!**

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><p>Matthew was always so much more sensitive when he was high. As well as giggly; most definitely he was a giggler when he got touched in the wrong—or right—places with the wrong—or right—amount of pressure. Alfred had memorised each of these spots, and knew how to move his fingers <em>exactly<em> to elicit a giggle or a breathy sigh, but always squirms of pleasure and delight.

Matthew was always so much more vocal when he was high. His voice was unrestrained, not being held back by mental censors or care about the neighbours or just how he sounded when the chords vibrating in his throat, echoed in his chest and dripped from his parted lips. He moaned louder when he was truly in pleasure, he let out husky and unrestrained sighs when he was cooling down from a spike, and he gasped and whimpered and it wasn't enough. Alfred knew each and every sound he'd make, every pitch and tone and knew what it meant, and he knew when was too much of something too good, and when it was too much but he could push him that little bit more.

Matthew was always so much more open and free when he was high. Not that he wasn't when sober, because he had too much French and confidence in him to shy away from the one he loved the most when they were both bare and eager to experiment. But there was something about when his pupils were blown wide and his movements were languid and wobbly but _precise_ that had Alfred mesmerised with the ideas that clicked and shifted in the Canadian's intelligent, creative and wonderfully dangerous mind.

Alfred didn't get high, not often, and when he did it would mostly be from second hand smoke if he was sitting close by in the same room while Matthew lit up a joint, smile curling around the bit in his mouth and violet eyes already focused on the American.

Alfred preferred to be sober, because he loved the intensity of how real those sounds were. When and if he shared a joint, or inhaled second hand unintentionally, the sounds took a different sense of realism in his mind, being exaggerated to him when he sobered up, hearing colours, tasting moans and seeing the scent of arousal. Matthew always laughed and told him he was making it up, but Alfred would swear over and over that when he was high and fucking the Canadian that his senses messed themselves up and he could touch the way Matthew's lips tasted on his own with his fingers and smell every movement and shift of muscle underneath pale skin when Matthew rolled his hips.

Despite it all, Alfred liked to be sober, because just seeing Matthew in ecstasy was enough to get him high as he kissed down his throat and over strong, lean muscles in his pale chest, tongue flickering over perky nipples and feel long fingered hands curl into his short dark blond locks and pull and pull and _pull_ and encourage him to go lower, lower, _please_, _more_.

It wasn't any exception, that day, when he came home from scouring nearby supermarkets to find Matthew stretched out on the couch, a lazy grin on his face, lips spotted orange with the cheese powder from a devoured packets of chips, violet eyes blown wide as the evidence floated about the living room in a thin haze, his legs spread wide, pants unzipped, and hard cock grasped in his hand being stroked lazily right out in the open.

"Mattie," Alfred called out, chuckling as the Canadian simply moaned, shifting his body anxiously. Alfred only stepped forward. The man was most definitely fantasising about him.

"Mattie," he repeated, voice more breathy this time, stepping behind the couch, looking down at the man hungrily, licking his lips. Matthew moaned again in response, his eyes fluttering, hand speeding up a little, mouthing words that were likely in French to the air, Adam's Apple trembling in his throat as he took in quick and rushed breaths. He was too lost in fantasy, his cock hard and throbbing, foreskin pulled back and the slit at the tip beading pre-cum in large droplets that would trickle down and get smeared away with the movement of his hand.

"A-_Ah_… Mattie… Just like that," Alfred moaned, purposefully close to the Canadian's ear, his grin curling as he watched Matthew gasp, eyes shooting open and crying out the American's name, cum spurting from the tip and splattering his oversized jersey shirt and hand, dribbling down along his fingers and cock to soak into his jeans. He must have been close.

With a bit of fumbling with his own jeans, as Matthew gulped in breaths to steady himself, Alfred pulled his own cock out, half hard but eager just from having caught Matthew touching himself so obviously, so wantonly, and whilst thinking of _him_. The paler man was still hard.

"Don't ya wanna bounce on my dick?" Alfred breathed, his lips now ghosting Matthew's ear from behind the couch, sucking it softly, his accent purposefully dropped to a more southern twang that he'd practiced to perfection, "Be a good partner 'n' ride a cowboy… I'd been so horny on my long way home."

Matthew moaned loudly in response, his head tilting back eagerly, hand coming up to grip Alfred's hair, the American needing to dodge to avoid getting cum smeared along his face.

"Alfred… Give me your dick," he muttered, hand dropping back down to his crotch, jerking it off lazily again, hips thrusting upwards, panting harshly, "_Fuck_… I'm so… Mm… Hungry… Meat… Dick and then snack… Dick as a snack…"

Alfred had to stifle a laugh, swinging his leg over the couch to clamber over, his smile sultry but twitching at the edges, eyes shining in a mixture of mirth and arousal.

"Don't bite the dick, Mattie," he wanted with a chuckle, Matthew shaking his head in response, two sets of hands working to yank off the man's jeans, "Come on, climb on."

Even with the jeans only down to ankles, that was enough, not needing much more prompting for Matthew to sultrily crawl up, his eyes locked on Alfred's arousal in a deep hunger that made it twitch eagerly beneath the gaze, Alfred fumbling with the bottle tucked in between the pillows. They'd done this so often that along with the joints, lighter, ash tray and snacks, Matthew brought down lubricant even if it was just to help make jerking off easier.

"Hey, hey, hey, hold up, hold up," Alfred laughed, feeling the Canadian grinding down, sloppy lips at his neck and tasting so much _deeper_, growling and groaning almost animalistic, "Lubricant first, wait."

The slathering was messy, some of the thick liquid dripping to Alfred's jeans and palm of his hand, but it was fine so long as his fingers were wet enough. Reaching back, he had to yank Matthew's hips up, the man arching his back in a perfect angle that he knew was _just_ to tease Alfred, the American pressed his fingers back, moaning as two sunk in almost instantly.

"Fuck, ya stretched earlier?" he groaned out, looking up at the Canadian who was only too eagerly trying to ride his fingers, earning a hummed "Mhm" in confirmation that made him shudder, leaning forward to nip sharply at the other's neck above the jersey collar, sucking hard as he thrust the fingers in sharply, tearing a gasp of delight and the Canadian's cock rutting against his belly, "You're a dirty little slut… Fuckin'… Ugh, so needy for it."

"I'm close…"

"Christ, already?" Alfred asked, surprised, pressing in a third finger to feel the tightness, spreading them and getting a loud moan in his ear, Matthew's hips jerking back and forward eagerly, "You've been jerkin' off all mornin', haven't ya? That's why you're close now, right? You're so sensitive that you'd probably cum just by humpin' against me, wouldn't ya?"

Matthew nodded hurriedly, urgently, jaw slack, fingers gripping tight to Alfred's jacket, eyes shut tight, toes curled so much that the arch of his foot was beginning to cramp.

"Come on then," Alfred encouraged, sliding his fingers out, smearing the lubricant over his arousal, grasping it and guiding it to the other's pucker, "Ride me."

Immediately, Matthew sank down, taking the full length in with a loud moan, a broad smile, and fluttering muscles in powerful thighs. Hockey had given him good legs and good endurance, and he was always eager to top from the receiving end, hips rotating like he was a dancer, muscles inside clenching and fluttering to give the perfect pulse for the American's cock. And then he gathered his feet beneath him, and they were lost.

Alfred loved the lewd slap of skin, loved it when Matthew stopped caring about how loud it could get and simply let his thighs smack down, and loved the filthy slurps that would occasionally echo from the excess lubricant or the way they moved. Matthew would laugh at the sounds, giggle, or lean in and suck and bite at Alfred's neck to mean more noises and Alfred would laugh and moan because by then the smoke would be starting to tickle his nose and the other's hips moving so fast and needy would elate him just _so_. Matthew's body never stopped moving, never stopped arching and twisting and rolling, muscles undulating beneath his skin in rolls and _waves_. He was beautiful in such a handsome and masculine way, and Alfred couldn't help but buck up into the tight heat, his own jaw slack and drinking in every movement, undecided between whether he wanted to watch Matthew's legs flex every time he rose up, or his cock as it bobbed and dripped and throbbed, or his throat to watch sweat curl over skin and his Adam's Apple bob, or his face to drink in each shift of expression and catch every sound as it fell from the other's lips. Matthew was addicting.

"I-I'm cumming, _fuck_!"

Alfred wrapped an arm around Matthew's back, steadying him and bringing him closer as his movements got wilder, worried about him falling backwards—which had happened once, when they were both high, tumbling off of the couch together—as the other hand grasped the dripping cock and let his lover ride and thrust eagerly to each stimulant with vigour, hands scratching and grasping and digging in to ground himself from the pleasure.

His voice was loud, unrestrained, filthy curses in English and French echoing between Alfred's name and nonsensical slurs before his body jerked and convulsed, throwing himself forward and shouting in ecstasy as he came, Alfred grunting and thrusting hard to push himself cover, balls going tight as he felt Matthew rut and grind to milk himself, pushing him over the edge and a loud moan and growl of his partner's name.

Cool down was languid, with Matthew's hips rocking in circles, their breaths loud against one another's necks, eyes shut and sweat being drunk up by their clothes. Alfred's hands traced the Canadian's back, pressing into each sinewy muscle, feeling it shift beneath his calloused fingers, tracing the dips and indents.

"I made chocolate for Easter," Matthew murmured pleasantly, lapping at Alfred's neck in what seemed more of a hunger driven act than sensual, the American tilting his head back to avoid the tongue, "Want some?"

"Yeah, some chocolate would be good. Didn't know ya were makin' some," Alfred spoke with a yawn, starting to go soft inside of the Canadian.

"Mmm… I did… Miscalculated the ingredients though…" Matthew replied, tongue back in his mouth now, "I had to smoke the leftovers."

"Smoke?"

Alfred blinked, frowning a bit as he nudged Matthew's face up, catching the grin.

"Yeah… Easter's today… and Four-twenty…"

The connections clicked in Alfred's brain slowly, and he let out a loud sigh as Matthew laughed, pressing in close, content to simply rest and cool down there on the couch in Alfred's lap.

"Happy Easter, Al."

"Yeah… Happy Easter, Mattie."


End file.
